


Threads

by GhostDragon42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Soulmates, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 17:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18155150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostDragon42/pseuds/GhostDragon42
Summary: It was the worst moment of Ginny's life. She could have lied. She could have tampered with the threads. But when she looked into his eyes. Sparkling with hope. She couldn't say no to him. She could never say no to him. Never. So, she'd given it all up. That last thing connected them together, all that remained of her thread. Just to see him happy. For that was the greatest of weaknesses, the Achilles Heel of anyone who allowed themselves to feel that most powerful of emotions: love.





	Threads

**Threads**

It was the worst moment of Ginny’s life. She could have lied. She could have tampered with the threads. But when she looked into his eyes. Sparkling with hope. She couldn’t say no to him. She could never say no to him. Never. So, she’d given it all up. That last thing connected them together, all that remained of her thread. Just to see him happy. For that was the greatest of weaknesses, the Achilles Heel of anyone who allowed themselves to feel that most powerful of emotions: love.

 

It started after the Chamber. The red threads. She saw her first the moment she woke up in the darkness. Glowing with a brilliant and vivid red light. It reached out from her chest, wrapped around the foot of Fawkes the Phoenix, and then spiralled down into Harry’s. And when he held her hand as they walked out of the Chamber, the string had been pulsing with vibrant red light. She hadn’t said anything. Been too afraid of what it could mean. Did it have to do with Tom? Had he done something to Harry? Then they’d caught up with Ron. He had a string to. One that floated out from his hand and up into the roof of the cave. She’d been relieved when she saw it. It wasn’t to do with Tom at all. But what did they mean? Lockhart's string made her sick. It started red and seemed to be wrapped around his throat, but when it began to float away, she saw the end was blackened and frayed, drifting in the non-existent wind. 

When they reached the school, she was overwhelmed by the number of red threads floating in the air. She'd tried to walk around them, but Harry and Ron looked at her like she was mad, and she reluctantly consented to step through them. She quickly learned on her way to the Headmaster's Office that each thread felt different. Every time she passed through one, it felt either hot or cold. One was so scolding hot she actually recoiled from it as if burned, tripping on a suit of armour. And as she fell, her hand caught an icy thread and sliced through it. The thread had snapped in half, before fading away into nothing. And she knew, knew it deep in her bones, that she’d just done something horrible.

She took extra care not to touch the threads with her hands after that. Her body could pass through them easily enough, but her hands could not. From that day on, she never wore anything without pockets, and her hands spent more time in them than anywhere else. But still, her red string, the one linking her to Harry, continued to beam brightly, always keeping her warm.

When they reached the Headmasters office, she’d gasped. Not at the sight of her mother and father waiting for her distraught, but at the two red threads spiralling out from each of them. The two threads drifted slightly, before coming together in an elaborate knot. A knot Ginny knew in her gut was not natural. The strings were loose in some places and tight in others, and they seemed to want to float in other directions, but the knot held them fast. Then she saw Dumbledore's thread. It was solid gold and wrapped around his hand in an elaborate Gordian Knot. And when he raised his hand, she saw that the end of the thread was not gold, but black and frayed, like Lockhart's was. The Headmaster had given her a knowing look but said nothing.

When she went home, her thread grew colder, and she knew why. Harry was too far away from her. The longer the thread, the colder it got. Bill's was the same. His thread was practically frozen. Ron's thread had been warm when they were in England but grew cold once they arrived in Egypt. Percy’s string was limp and lifeless, but it was still connected to something. Though who it was she didn’t know. Charlie had no thread. He was the first person she saw without one. Until she started looking that is. Once she did, she realised there were a few people they saw in Egypt, and Diagon Alley, without Threads of their own, though they were few and far between. Fred and George proved the most intriguing. Their threads were twisted and knotted in dozens of places. But it didn’t hide the fact that George’s thread had no connection – merely drifting off like a kite in the wind – whereas Fred's thread was healthy and robust, twisting its way out into the night.

When she returned to Hogwarts, she was so incredibly relieved when her thread became warm again. She tried to stay as close to Harry as she dared, to keep it as warm as possible, though Harry himself barely seemed to notice her. Professor Dumbledore called her to his office in the first week of term, and she went gladly, desperate for answers she knew he had. Once she sat down, the first thing he asked her was, “Have you discovered their meaning yet, Miss Weasley?”

"They have to do with love. Not just natural love, true love. Don't they?" She asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore smiled, and a part of her felt elated at the thought she had proved herself to him.

“They are the threads of fate, bonding soul-mates together across the world. The warmer the thread, the shorter they are, or the more powerful the love passing between. The strength of the thread is determined by the will of the person to embrace love. If it is decayed, then the owner has turned their back on love, and on hope.”

“But why the different colours?”

“Red, as I’m sure you’ve learned, is the base colour. Black is for death. Gold for sacrifice.”

Dumbledore sighed, looking at her beneath tired eyes devoid of their usual sparkle, "My thread is gold because I sacrificed my love for the Greater Good. I hope and pray you never have to do the same with yours.”

"Now Miss Weasley. You must be careful. Having this power is both a gift and a curse. Not only can you see the threads, but you can manipulate them too. The more twists in a thread, the more challenges their carriers will need to overcome. Knots in the thread have different meanings. Some are for pain, others for happiness or other relationships. But they can also be used to link too unrelated threads together, or to repair damaged ones, as I did for your mother and father. Finally, those without thread are not broken or damaged, they merely have greater freedom than you or I. However, you can draw out a string from them if that is your intent. Be very sure of a decision you make before you change a thread. Making an alteration is much easier than fixing one.”

For years Ginny watched the threads of her fellow students. Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot – a long and winding thread. Hermione Granger and her brother Ron – a thread filled with knots and more twists than she could count. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan – a short thread with a single knot that looked incredibly painful. Even Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson – a thread so decayed it was a miracle it even existed. Even the staff had them. Professor Snape’s thread was short, stumpy and black as a crisp. McGonagall’s thread was also black, though it had more length and structure to it than Snape’s did. Hagrid’s thread was the thickest she’d ever seen, thicker even than her own, and shot in a straight line south, no matter which direction he stood. Professor Flitwick, like Charlie, had no thread.

The first time Ginny manipulated a thread was in her third year. It was the middle of the Triwizard Tournament, and Ginny feared for her friend. Demelza Robbins, Ginny’s best Gryffindor friend, had a beautiful and healthy thread spiralling off into the distance until she came downstairs one morning, her thread snapped and blackened at the end. Ginny had watched as she began to sink into depression, as the thread had started to decay, and done the only thing she was sure would work. She had grabbed hold of Demelza’s thread and tied it onto her own. The second the loose knot was complete, the warmth of Harry’s thread had flowed into Demelza’s own, rejuvenating it in an instant. Ginny was elated the next morning when Demelza was back to her old self, but quickly realised the consequences of her actions. Demelza rapidly developed a sort of crush on Harry, and she couldn’t help but notice the blushes and giggles she sometimes broke into when Ginny stared at her too long. Ginny herself couldn’t help the glow of attraction that started to bubble within her, a feeling aimed towards Demelza herself. And through it all, Harry seemed as oblivious as ever. It confused her tremendously. Given the thickness and heat of their thread, how could she be so affected by it, and he not. Was she not attractive enough to even catch his eye? He also ignored Demelza's very obvious attempts to flirt with him, instead opting to stare at Cho Chang.

Cho Chang, a girl without a thread. From what Ginny could tell, Chang was a player. She got close to the hottest or most popular boy of the moment, used them, then pushed them away and went after her next target. This time, her mark was Harry. She spent weeks trying to figure out how she was doing it, until finally she ‘stole' Harry's invisibility cloak, and followed her. All the way to the kitchens, where she would meet a House Elf that was clearly not from Hogwarts. They’d speak for a while, Cho would hand the Elf a potion, and then she’d leave. Ginny was so infuriated she had made her second change to a thread. She called forth a thread from within Chang and twisted it beyond recognition. Then she placed a massive knot at the very end, stopping the thread from ever connecting to anyone. Then Cedric Diggory was killed by Lord Voldemort, and Ginny never forgave herself.

When Voldemort came back, it was like the damn Harry had built to well up all his feelings shattered. Their thread, before so warm and full of light, began to dim. It grew thin, maintained only by the love that Ginny could pour into it. Professor Dumbledore pulled Ginny aside at Grimmauld Place.

“Miss Weasley, a moment if you please?” Ginny had followed the Headmaster into an unused room in the old manor house, and he had then placed an intricate privacy spell upon the door.

"We can no longer be heard," He said, before conjuring two armchairs.

“I’m proud of you Miss Weasley. Truly proud. When I learned you could see the threads, I will admit to being worried. I have seen others use them for their own ends. Causing grief for those who wrong them and upsetting the balance of fate. Instead, you have done your best not to harm, but to help. Your work with Miss Robbins was exquisite if I do say so myself." Ginny wouldn't look him in the eye. How could she? When clearly the Headmaster didn't know what she did to Chang?

“However, that being said, I must ask something of you. Something I absolutely hate.” He aged then, looking so much more the old man than the wise professor he was.

“I must ask you to untangle Miss Robbins. Harry’s situation is delicate, fragile, and I fear that Voldemort may use his own connection to him to influence Harry in some way. I am trying to find a way to break the connection without harming Harry, but have come up naught. As much as I approve of your decision, I fear leaving their threads puts not only Harry but her at risk as well. I know you care for your friend, I really do, and I understand how hard it can be to manipulate those you love. But to protect her, and Harry, you must do this.” Ginny, tears streaming down her face, had agreed. And when she returned to Hogwarts, she untied the delicate knot, crying the whole time, and tied her onto Colin Creevey.

That year was one of the worst of her life. She spent so much effort between maintaining her thread with Harry and trying to be his friend that her nights were restless and fraught with nightmares. When he said he was going alone to rescue Sirius from Voldemort, she had refused to let him leave without her. She stood alongside Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna as they fought with the Death Eaters and retrieved the prophecy. She genuinely thought they’d make it out alive, until Sirius was cursed by Bellatrix, falling into that damned Veil. Then, as Harry slipped free of Lupin's grip, running for the arch, she had grabbed her thread and pulled as hard as she could. He flew backwards away from the Veil, and Ginny let go, falling into an abyss of darkness. When she woke, the first thing she looked for was the thread. Her beautiful thread, once so full of life, was now thin, weak and faded. It was that moment when Ginny came to accept that Harry would never care for her as much as she cared for him. That he was either too blind to see, or honestly didn't care. And it hurt. Oh, God, it hurt.

So, she stopped trying to empower her thread and ignored it as it began to wither away.

 

Hermione, Harry and the others all had questions about how she had pulled Harry away, and she had finally admitted to her gift. However, she refused under any circumstances to tell anyone where their threads led, or who they connected too. And no one learned that she pulled her own thread to save Harry.

Without Harry as her anchor, Ginny put all her effort into the threads of others. If Voldemort was going to kill them all, and Ginny’s own thread was beyond saving, then she’d devote all her strength to making the lives of others better. She spent hours in the library, researching fate and soul mates. There was one ancient book in the restricted section – a translation of a text by a man named Homer – that spoke about a God from ancient times known as Hermes. Hermes it said, was the god of travellers, responsible for carrying messages between the gods of Olympus, and the carrying of souls in this world and the next. Homer believed that as the three Fates spun the threads, it was Hermes' job to match them together, and then bring them to the Underworld when it was their time. But Hermes was a trickster God and enjoyed the manipulation of threads for entertaining or tragic results, something that turned the Goddess Aphrodite against him for all time.

Ginny thought Homer was right. Hermes was a trickster, twisting something pure into something unrecognisable. For what was love, but a great joke meant to trick the innocent into believing in something bigger than themselves.

So, Ginny began to manipulate the threads of the people around her, smoothing out the twists and picking apart knots of pain, letting them fell something before the darkness fell across the world. And when Ron spurned Hermione in favour of Lavender Brown, and Hermione found herself crying on Harry’s shoulder, Ginny didn’t care. Nor did she care when she began to notice the brushing of hands, the shy smiles, or the extra help with homework or broomstick flying.

Then the next year, when everything went to hell, and Harry, Hermione and Ron vanished without so much as a goodbye, Ginny watched as all her hard work was undone. And in the end, there were more black threads among the students of Hogwarts than red.

At the end of the year, after the rebuilding, after the re-opening of the school, Ginny found herself in a worse depression than Demelza's ever was. She and Colin were now dating, and Ginny couldn't be happier for them. And Harry and Hermione were getting married. And on the day of the wedding, they had come up to her and asked her for one gift. A gift she’d refused to give anyone else.

“Gin… I know you said you’d never manipulate a thread for anyone, but… please, I’m asking you. I don’t want to know if Hermione is my soul-mate, I know you won’t tell me. But if she isn’t, can you please tie us together. I love her, with everything I have. I want my fate to be hers. Please?”

It was the worst moment of Ginny’s life. She could have lied. She could have tampered with the threads. But when she looked into his eyes. Sparkling with hope. She couldn’t say no to him. She could never say no to him. Never. So, she’d given it all up. That last thing connected them together, all that remained of her thread. Just to see him happy. For that was the greatest of weaknesses, the Achilles Heel of anyone who allowed themselves to feel that most powerful of emotions: love.

She took the fragile string of her thread, and, tears running down her face, snapped it in two, just as she had the first thread she ever touched. And then she watched as the decayed old thread turned solid gold, with a frayed black tip at the end. Then she wound the thread around her wrist like a Gordian Knot, tied Harry’s half of the thread to Hermione’s and spoke to her soul-mate one last time.

“It’s done.”

Then she turned on her Achilles Heel and left the wedding, never to be seen again. For Hermes, the God of Tricksters and Travellers may twist the threads of fate on his journey, but he always carries the souls in his charge to Thanatos – or Death – in the end.

 


End file.
